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But to the west was open to the sky.
"Is it not strange, Isabel," said the youth, "I never saw the sun? We will walk here To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me."
That night the youth and lady mingled lay In love and sleep - but when the morning
The lady found her lover dead and cold.
But year by year lived on—in truth I think
Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles,
Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief; -
Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins
And weak articulations might be seen Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self
Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day,
Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
"Inheritor of more than earth can give, Passionless calm and silence unreproved,